My Fair Lady and other shorts
by EmmyH
Summary: Ch. 1: Rodney has a question for Carson. Ch. 2: Rodney has an annoying... but harmless...habit. Ch. 3: Why You Shouldn't Give John Painkillers...or, how Rodney stopped John saying a bad word.
1. My Fair Lady

Hey! This is my first foray into Atlantis, although I've done a few SG-1 stories. Tell me how you like it!

* * *

"Hey, Carson?" The too-familiar voice echoed suddenly, jarringly, through the infirmary—and it was so nice and quiet too. "Carson, you there? I wanted to talk—to—oh." McKay had found his quarry.

"Hello, Rodney." I looked up from my microscope, resigned. "What is it you're wanting today?"

"Well, actually I wanted to talk to you." He gave me a brief, insincere-looking grin. "By the way, there's always this really strong smell in here. Have you ever noticed it? It's weird, kind of—"

"It's disinfectant," I interrupted him. "Now what was it you were wanting to talk about?"

McKay frowned, and said rapidly, "Funny, doesn't smell like the hospitals I've been to. Must be alien disinfectant…"

"Rodney, just get to the point or get out of my infirmary."

"Oh, _your _infirmary, is it? Since when did you own the infirmary?" I knew Rodney wasn't being deliberately rude: he just had a natural gift for tactlessness. Still, I was short on patience.

"Yes, _my_ infirmary," I replied, almost savagely. "Because _I_ am the chief medical officer on this—"

"Except you're not really an officer—"

"base and I therefore have the power to order around anyone I want while they are in my infirmary!"

"No need to get huffy," McKay said, affronted, but quickly continued. "Anyway, you can't tell us to do _anything._ You can't tell us to jump into the ocean." He smiled at this loophole.

"Yes," I ground out, "but I can tell you to get out of my infirmary if you're being a nuisance!"

McKay shrugged. "Well, that's only if someone needs quiet or something—"

"_I_ need quiet!" I finally yelled, and McKay backed up a step, hands up in submission.

"Just…lemme tell you something. Okay?"

I sighed, looked at him, but said nothing.

"I was thinking about a musical I saw once. It was called My Fair Lady, I think. Anyway, in it there was this girl who had an accent nobody could understand, one of those impossible English ones, and she took lessons from a guy and then her speech was much better—although then it was one of those posh British ones. And when I was thinking about it, I thought of you!" He made a little flourish with his hands. "See?"

I sighed again. Poor Rodney: no sense of tact whatsoever. I should take pity on him, I thought. "Rodney, lad," I said gently, "my accent is Scottish, not cockney. And it's not even a very strong one."

He blinked. "Um, it's not?"

I shake my head.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "because sometimes I can hardly—"

"Rodney," I said gently, "get out of my infirmary."

He blinked, then turned to go.

I groaned in relief—but just when I thought I was in the clear, Rodney's voice called out once more. "Hey, Carson, when we get back to Earth maybe we can watch it together, huh?"

* * *

Review, please! 


	2. Crack

It's called Crack, but it's not naughty, I promise. Unless you're one of those people who really considers finger-popping a sin... ;)

_

* * *

Crack_

I winced.

_Crack, crack. Crackcrackcrack._

"Rodney, stop it!" I said firmly.

"Why?" he asked. "It helps to stretch me."

"Cracking your back isn't the healthiest thing you can do, lad," I grumbled, and turned back to my food: Asparagus and meatloaf, mmm.

_Crack!_

"Rodney! Will you stop it!"

"My doctor on Earth said it wouldn't give me cancer or arthritis or anything. I asked her years ago."

"Aye, but it'll give ya a stiff back, _and_ a cold shoulder from people who don't like the sound! Which includes me!"

Rodney sighed.

Silence.

I smiled.

_Crack._

"Rodney, for God's sake…"

"Sorry, sorry, I can't help it." Rodney didn't really sound sorry, but with him I take what I can get.

"Why do they crack anyway? I mean, I never got that. The cracking noise. It's weird. Are the bones snapping together or something? You couldn't break your back doing that, could you?"

He looked at me intensely: suddenly he was worried.

I could scare him a little, I thought. Yes, you could break your back from cracking it. Nobody would ever talk to you again, because the crack would be so horrendous you'd make the nearest person to you go deaf.

But I'm not in the habit of lying. "You can't break your back from it. When you're cracking your joints, you're pulling your ligaments farther than they usually go. The lubricant between your bones doesn't have as much pressure on it, so bubbles form and pop."

"Oh, is that all?" Rodney said. "Well, then…" _Crack. Crackcrack._

"Rodney, stop cracking your back! Whether it gives you arthritis or a broken back or nothing isn't the issue here, it's how annoyed I am!"

"I'm not cracking my back," Rodney said, with an injured tone. "I'm cracking my neck."

"Well, don't crack your neck then. Or any other part of your body," I warned.

Rodney pouted. "Fine," he said, and stabbed an asparagus.

"Mmm," he said sarcastically, "Asparagus and meatloaf. Gotta love that."

* * *

Well? Why don't you tell me what you thought of it? Please? 


	3. Why You Shouldn't Give John Painkillers

I started singing this song, putting in SGA's characters' names, and then thought, what if John were doing it...

* * *

Yes, sitting in an infirmary bed was boring, especially if you weren't allowed to do any work. But John had long ago learned how to amuse himself in hospitals.

"John, John, bo bon, banana-nana fo fon, mee my mo mon, John!"

Oh, yeah, and the narcotics he was on helped, too.

"Rodney, Rodney, bo bodney, banana-nana fo fodney, mee my mo modney, Rodney!" John giggled to himself, clutching the sheets. His leg may hurt, but the rest of him was feeling _juuust _fine.

"Ronon, Ronon bo bonon, banana-nana fo fonon, mee my mo monin, Ronon! Hey, that one had moaning in it... Ronon moaning…" He giggled to himself, not noticing as Carson and Rodney entered his room.

"Elizabeth Elizabeth bo babizaleth… that's not working… okay. Liz, Liz, bo biz, banana-nana fo fizz, mee my mo miz, Liz!"

Carson and Rodney looked at each other. "Is he crazy?" Rodney asked, and Carson shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said. "I'm sure it's just the drugs."

"Carson, Carson, bo barson, banana-nana fo farson, mee my mo marson, Carson!" He looked up, and saw Carson and Rodney staring at him. "Oh, hey, Carson! And Rodney, too. Hi! I was just singing a song." He grinned stupidly. "I once had a friend named Chuck, you know. He hurt his leg like me, but his had to be amputated. So he got kicked out of the Air Force, you know, but they called it a medical discharge. Chuck, Chuck, bo buck, banana-nana fo f—"

"I think that's enough singing, don't you?" Rodney came forward quickly, covering John's mouth. He turned to Carson, John looking up at him confusedly, and mouthed, _Do something!_

Carson quickly went to John's IV and inserted something in it. "Go to sleep, now, lad," he told John severely, and John sank guiltily into the sheets.

"I was having fun," he muttered sleepily, Carson's drug quickly taking hold.

Carson and Rodney left, Carson muttering, "Okay, so you're right. He _is_ crazy."

Rodney grinned. "Told ya."

* * *

Do you like to sing? If you like to sing, or if you want to leave a review, please leave a review.  
Because I like reviews. And you like to sing. 


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